The Drowning (4 page)

A look of total disbelief swept Mum’s face. “
Have
you indeed!”

“Yes, I have!” Jenna said defiantly.

“I never thought you’d make it.”

“You and me both . . . Well, aren’t you going to say, ‘Congratulations’?”

Mum smoothed her apron, trying to compose herself. “I’m not sure that’s really in order.
They
may have said yes, but you need
our
approval before you go anywhere.”

Jenna gasped. “There’s no way I’m turning them down. Not after all that work.”

“What about your GCSEs? When do you intend to take
those
?”

Jenna tried to keep her patience. “My course doesn’t start until September. I’ll take my GCSEs in May and June.”

“I
see.”
Mum bit her lip. “But there are lots of other things to consider. Like . . .” she flailed slightly. “I’m not happy about Tamsyn’s offer to pay your fees.”

Jenna clenched her fists. The precious letter crumpled inside her hand. “We
agreed
that when she came to stay at Christmas, before I even applied to the Academy. We’ve talked about it a hundred times since then.”

“You mean you and Dad have. I simply don’t approve of handing you over to Tamsyn. London can be a dangerous place for young girls. I’m not at all sure I can trust her to look after you. Nothing’s been finally decided.”

“That’s not fair, Mum. You’re never interested in—”

“Oh, I’m
interested
all right.” Pat, pat, went Mum’s hand against her tightly permed hair. “We need you here. I want you to help me and Dad run the Cockleshell. Not rush off to London on some hare-brained scheme.” She bustled across the kitchen, bent to open one of the cupboards. “Where
are
those serviettes? . . . Really, Jenna, this fairy-tale nonsense stops right now.”

Jenna stared down at the redness of Mum’s neck, her thick waist, the starched white cuffs of her blouse. “This ‘fairy-tale nonsense’,” she said, her voice deadpan, “is years of hard work. Everything I’ve ever wanted to do with my life.”

“Prancing around on some silly little stage, pretending to be a swan.” Mum stood up to look at her, her voice now openly mocking. “Come on, Jenna, get real.”

Jenna unclenched the precious letter, flattened it out, waved it in Mum’s face. “This
is
real . . . Leah and Tammy—”

“Filling your head with pipe dreams. It’s so irresponsible of them.”

“They believed in me. Now the Academy believes in me too. I’ve fought really hard for this and I’ve made it. It’s out of your hands.”

Mum shook her head. “We’ll have to see about that.”

“There’s nothing
to
see . . . Except this letter. Don’t you even want to read it?”

But Mum had already turned on her heel and was marching towards the door.

“Any other mother would be
pleased
for me.” Jenna’s voice rose, catching and then sobbing in her throat. “Dad will be over the moon.”

Mum hesitated in the doorway. Without looking round she said, “Some of us have already done several hours’ work today. Tell Benjie I’ve just made him some scrambled eggs.
He
appreciates me, even if you don’t.”

Jenna flung herself up the stairs.

She tapped on Benjie’s door. There was the sound of wild scrabbling; a cupboard door closed. He called, “Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

Try not to show Benjie how Mum’s upset me. Just pretend it’s an ordinary day.

She pushed at the door and looked round it. “Phew! When did you last clean out that cage?”

“Last week.”

“Well, do it again. Klunk and Splat are stinking this room out . . . Mum wants you downstairs.”

Benjie lay on the floor, his head against a bottle-green train’s engine. He looked up at her. “What for?”

“Breakfast’s ready.”

“Cool.” Benjie hoisted himself to his feet. “Have you been crying, sis? Your face looks peculiar.”

Jenna smeared a hand across her cheeks. “No,it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does. It’s all wet and gooey.”

Jenna sniffed. “I got in.”

Benjie stared, open-mouthed. “To the dance school?”

“Yes.”

“And you thought you’d blown it.” He bent quickly to adjust another carriage on the track. “That’s brilliant, isn’t it?”

Jenna bit her lip. “Yes, I suppose it is!”

“Then why do you look all peculiar?”

“I don’t. Go on, Benjie. Go and eat your breakfast.”

“Are you leaving now?”

Jenna gave a hiccup of laughter. “I’d
like
to leave tomorrow.” She leant against the door, needing its support. “I can’t go until September . . . That’s when the course starts. Like any other school.”

Benjie stood up. He took off his glasses and solemnly wiped them with the end of one sleeve. “So you won’t live here any more.”

“No,” Jenna said. “I won’t.”

A shiver of shock flashed through Benjie’s round grey eyes.

“But I’ll come back in the holidays. And before you ask, you
can’t
use my studio for your train set. You’ll ruin the floor and I won’t be able to dance on it. You’re to leave the room alone, do you hear?”

Benjie hooked his glasses back over his sticking-out ears. He pushed past her, his body for a moment pressing against hers.

“Don’t care about the room. It’s
you.
I don’t want you to go, sis. I’ll have to stay here all on my own.”

Slowly, Jenna followed him downstairs.

This should be the happiest day of my life. Instead it feels like the worst.

Dad came bounding across the courtyard. He swept Jenna into his arms.

“Congratulations! Brilliant girl! I knew you could do it!”

His sturdy warmth hugged around her. Tears stung persistently behind her eyes.

He held her at arm’s length. “Whatever’s the matter?”

“Benjie doesn’t want me to go. And Mum . . .” Anger flooded through her. “She can’t even be
pleased
for me. She said—”

“For goodness’ sake, Jenn.” Dad gripped her more tightly. “Take no notice. You
know
what she’s like.”

“She’s dead against me going anywhere.”

“She’ll come round. I’ll make sure of that.” His hands stroked her hair, smoothed its long flow down her back. “You leave her to me.”

Jenna’s words were muffled against his shoulder. “Nothing’s going to stop me, Dad. I swear it. Nothing and nobody.”

“Course it isn’t, darling. Nothing in the world can stop you now.”

As spring tiptoed across Cornwall, Jenna flung herself with renewed enthusiasm and vigour into a complex maze of work that left little time for anything – or anyone – else.

After school, she had her numbers in the new show to rehearse, her solo to learn and make perfect, costumes to be made for her and fitted, her regular ballet, tap, contemporary dance and theatre classes to keep her fit and supple.

Her private singing lessons continued with her teacher, Helen, as they extended Jenna’s range of songs.

“Lift the notes off the page with your energy. Let me hear the brightness . . . Out of it comes interpretation . . .”

Helen sat at the piano in her elegant living room, her hands skimming the keys. Jenna felt the blood rising in her cheeks, her lungs filling with air.

“Good . . . Excellent . . . Smile and let me see those cheekbones changing the shape of your face and the sound of the notes.”

In early April, Jenna’s sixteenth birthday came and went without much time for celebration. After the success of the Easter show and its standing ovations for her solo on each of the three performance nights, the local paper published a feature about her, with a large photograph. People in the street recognised her and called out their congratulations. Neighbours came to the tea room to tell Mum and Dad how much they had enjoyed the show.

Dad said he was delighted.

Mum gave them a fleeting smile but made no comment.

“When September comes,” Dad told Jenna one Sunday afternoon as they walked on their own along the cliff path towards Zennor,“when your term begins,Mum’ll be fine, you’ll see. I’ve persuaded her that Tamsyn will look after you.”

“Of course she will,” Jenna said.

“I’ll keep Mum busy with new autumn menus to test and serve. She’ll have plenty of other things on her mind. Her bark is worse than her bite. I reckon she’s just finding it hard to let you go. And maybe she’s a bit jealous. I think she misses London life herself.”

A showery wind flapped into their faces, tugged playfully at Jenna’s hair. Far below, massive grey swells of sea heaved into dark coves like hungry lions searching for their prey.

“I’m dreading the scene she’ll make,” Jenna said.

“We’ll get you packed and organised and on that train before she can say raspberry jam. Benjie will be eleven in June, he’ll be off to St Ives School in the autumn, just like you were. She’ll have him to love and care for. And she’ll have me and Tamsyn to battle with if she goes on making a fuss.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Jenna gripped his hand more tightly.

“You’ve worked for it, Jenn. You deserve to move on.”

“I’ll miss you when I leave.”

The wind grabbed her words, whipping them around her head and out to the sea.

“And
I’ll
miss
you.”
Dad turned to look at her. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Jenna had to revise for eight GCSEs.

Formal classes came to an end in the middle of May, but she climbed the steep hill of the Belyars back to school during the rest of May and the first half of June for each separate exam.

Hang on in there,
she told herself repeatedly through gritted teeth.

I’m beginning to feel like an exam machine, a robot stuffed with information. Press a button and any fact you like will come spilling out. I just hope it’s the
right
fact!

I can’t wait for history. That’ll be the last exam. Reckon I haven’t done too badly in the others. I’ve been organised and thorough. Nothing brilliant, but at least I’ve given them what they want!

The moment GCSEs were over, Jenna began working full-time on her ballet.

Every morning began with a practice session in her own studio. Every day she had a class with Leah. Every evening she would be back in her studio again, at the barre, repeating the day’s class, finding tiny sections of it that needed further work.

In the middle of July, Jenna would take her Advanced One ballet exam and Leah was hoping that she would pass with Honours. Three other students were preparing for the same exam, and although the Academy had accepted Jenna no matter what the result, working for the exam became increasingly important to her as the summer progressed. For an hour and a half, she would dance solo for a senior examiner from the International Dance Teachers’ Association.

As she caught an early bus to Lelant that morning, the air fresh and cool before the heatwave took proper hold, Jenna felt the familiar tingle of excitement pulling at her heart.

One more challenge before I’m off the hook . . .

This afternoon,Imogen,Morvah and I are going for a swim on Porthmeor Beach.

And tonight one of Morvah’s friends is giving a party. His name’s Denzil or something. That’ll probably end up on the beach too.

Welcome to the world of the living . . .

She pushed at the door of the village hall.

The laughter, chaos and bustle of a normal class day had vanished. Everything felt quiet and serious as, under the beady and demanding eyes of the examiner, the students were put through their paces, one by one.

Jenna changed into her dance clothes. She pulled on the lucky red leotard Leah had given her for the Academy audition. Jenna had washed it and kept it hidden in a drawer until this very moment.

Carefully she tied on her soft-pointe shoes, going through the order of the exam in her head. First there would be barre work – careful, exact, meticulous and graceful. Next she’d walk into the centre of the hall for movement of the arms and centre practice. Slow movements and light, springy movements would follow; then
enchaînement,
movements linked like a chain that the examiner would give her and expect her to learn on the spot. Finally, with her full-pointe shoes, she’d dance the set, formally choreographed ballet variations.

She tied back her hair, breathing deeply, summoning her energy and every skill she had ever learnt.

Once more into the fray . . .

Go,girl,go . . .

When it was over she felt sweaty and light-headed.

The hall pumped with heat and tension. Jenna changed back into her jeans and T-shirt,hugged Leah,waved to her from the door and closed it behind her.

She’d know the results of the exam in August.

Until then, she intended to squeeze every single drop of happiness out of every moment of freedom.